Liltiel na Mornië
by Boudicca Le Grave
Summary: A Woman dreams of becoming a Dancer of the far east  AKA Belly Dancer . Her wish is granted, but not without a few things going awry first! OC/OC, OC/Haldir


Liltiel na Mornië

(Dancing Towards Darkness)

Author's Note: Hello there, I greatly appreciated you stopping by to read this story. I've decided to write another story, and I hope you greatly enjoy the first chapter! PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

When I first witnessed it, it was not a pleasant first meeting. A bead had flown off the woman's garment and hit me on the cheek. It would've been such a small thing, but I was a sensitive four year old, and the glass bobble was sharp. It cut into my face and left a sizable bleeding welt, causing me to scream my lungs out in pain. My mother wrapped me in her embrace and pulled me from earshot of the crowd to tend my wound. Despite this negative introduction, however, the sight of the dancing women of the far east Umbar was burned into my memory.

As I grew older, the desire to become a dancer, despite my mother's assurance that I would grow out of it, never ceased. When I learned to sew, I would stitch little metal baubles onto a shawl and wear it around my hips, shimmying around the house. My mother's disapproving glare and sighs of annoyance of the noise I made turned to interest. I was sixteen when she suggested I should dance on next week's market day, in front of the Prancing Pony. She had given me a tambourine, and I delightedly incorporated it into my routine, creating wild beats in which to move my body to. Silently I hoped the dancers would return and train me in their ways; seeing that I had been practising so hard. I knew this was wishful; they had not been seen since I saw them at the age of four.

Still, I danced and danced everyday; clucking a beat and shimmying along with it as I walked down the bustling roads of Bree; swaying my hips and spinning to tunes strummed by lute-bearing bards on the corners of the main street. I am sure I caught more than a few seconds of attention from the men in town (residents and travellers alike); but naive as I was, I took them for looks of confusion, or disgust. Oh, how innocent was I.

The market day had come very fast for me. I found myself very nervous for that fateful dance. Why wasn't I scared before? Well, to put it simply, I was used to the stares I received from the townsfolk; I knew them, I had lived with them all my life. But the amount of people who ventured into town on market day was immense, and the idea of so many unfamiliar eyes watching me was frightening. However, I suppressed my worries, and carried on with my day until it was time.

My mother presented me with a costume much like the Dancers had worn. It was red and black with golden coins and beads dripping from the bra and the hip scarf. The gypsy skirt was plain, but swirled out around me when I spun. I asked my mother where she bought such a beautiful thing, my she declined to share her secrets, a smile twinkling in her eyes.

"I am going to fix your hair, Boudicca." Mother said, braiding a chunk of hair from either side of my head to meet in the middle-back of my head. "You'll look like a dancing elven princess."

I had turned to her, wonder filling my eyes. "Have you ever seen an elf, mama?" I asked.

The muscles around my mother's eyes tightened ever so slightly, and her lips quivered between a frown and a forced smile. "Of course not, my dear." She fiddled with the pins in my hair. "That is a fanciful thing to say, indeed, for the elves have long fallen back to their homes in the forest, never to be seen again."

I had felt sad for a moment. I knew the tales told of their wisdom, heroism, and most of all their shocking beauty and power. After the defeat of the dark lord, the elves had indeed fallen from the sights of man. I wish I had seen one before their exile.

My mother broke the silence. "Well, I think you are ready to dance, my dear!"

I smiled, forgetting all about that piece of melancholy, and heaved on a light cloak before leaving my small abode with my mother.

It is frightening how dark it can get when the sun sets. Some, tucked away in their beds, behind the rock barriers and guarded gates of their towns, spin tales of misunderstood and fantastic creatures in reverie; lost in the false notion of safety, and innocence of others. But the darkness hides the lands most foul creatures from the idealistic eyes and minds of the sheltered.

Here I lay, the choking dark surrounding me, the absence of the moon and stars dashing all hope of slicing through the thick darkness. My ears strained to hear the slightest footfall, breath, growl; any warning of the dangers I knew stalked the darkness around me.

I had been travelling across the land in search of my caravan from which I had been separated from; I had but my roll and travelling pack full of my belongings. I don't know how long I'd been following their trail; I had stopped counting the days long ago, and focused keenly on the faint traces they left behind from travel to tell me their direction.

I wasn't catching up. On the contrary, I was falling even further behind with every footfall I took. The caravan was led by horse-driven waggons, each like a miniature house on wheels. And despite the weight of them, the horses were huge and strong; pulling their load fast across the land... Leaving me further behind, unable to catch up.

A snap close by brought me back into reality, and my breath hitched in my throat. I pressed my back harder against the wall of rock I chose to hide behind. A small squeak sounded, and I let out a long breath. Nothing. Although it was a false alarm, I was beginning to think that joining the caravan of the Dancers was not a great idea.

It was not until I was seventeen that the Clan had come and taken me as a pupil upon seeing me dance at the Prancing Pony. The two years I had been with them was definitely exciting; during that time my skill was not the only thing that had matured. My body and appearance changed as well. The women of the caravan had complimented the sweeping curve of my hips, my small waist, satisfactory bust, and somewhat wide shoulders. My dark brown hair now fell in waves to my backside; but was still pinned back like my mother had done it so many years ago. My face was soft and heart shaped; my lips a dusty pink cupid's bow; my eyes rimmed with dark lashes, irises ringed with grey, green, and brown. I was small of stature (five foot six), but I have been told that my presence could not go unnoticed.

I suppose I should not be ungrateful; they not only taught me to dance, but they taught me to live of the land and survive. Such was their way, and if I were to be with them, I had to learn everything.

This new knowledge was certainly helping me now, at least to an extent. Tracking was obsolete if I could not catch up to the convoy. And they had led me to an odd place.

Rocks jutted like smooth teeth from the earth, and were just inside the line of the huge forest I had come upon the morning before. These were the rocks I was currently curled up against. Their cold hardness offered no warmth to me, but their shelter was more than welcome.

Another, louder snap echoed from the trees before me, and I bit my lip, holding back a gasp. Fear was building in me, and tears stung my eyes in exasperation. I couldn't help a small sob slip through my lips. And with that, I couldn't stop the avalanche that followed.

My cries cut through the silence; a chorus of moans, which woke the birds in the trees, who joined into the woeful song. To my dismay, there was a crash, and I could hear the footfalls of many approaching. With a scream I sat upright, pressing into the rock as if I hoped to meld with it; holding up my blanket in meagre defence.

I'm going to die.


End file.
